The Stars Screamed
by ZanzibarTheGreat
Summary: She's locked away for large scale crimes she committed, destined for death in the name of justice. The stars had another idea.
1. i

**Chapter I**

There are children who have restoration spells mastered. Me? I skipped out on the simplest of magicka my whole life. I depend more on my brute strength and agility to get me by, and hope the best in between.

I regret it now.

My wound is gaping; glaringly red with blood and shining with the contents of my forearm. As a hunter and a bandit, I'd spectated my share of blood and gore without even the bat of an eye. But to study and greet my own insides, paired with the striking wave of agony, causes anxiety and nausea to wash over me. I yield no choice but to gaze at it, fingers in a tremor as I tend to the wound.

It's a miracle the dagger that flailed my arm didn't nick any of the major arteries coursing down my arm to my hand. Instead, luckily, it dug into the flesh and chewed up the superficial array of muscles, leaving me with a partially immobilized arm and a ton of blood.

It was a pissed-off High Elf that did the deed. I hadn't bargained that this traveler, one like the many I'd robbed before, would be a force to reckon with. My calculations and plans had been sloppy, causing this wounded outcome in my behalf. My brain racks over a myriad of different approaches I should have taken, but I decide there's little time to maul over the should-haves and could-haves.

My arm is now a tribute paid to his ferocity and my carelessness, and there's nothing more that can become of the situation.

I need to close the wound. My fingers tremble around the iron needle, an object used prior only to mend the frayed stitches of my clothing. Now, it is the procedure tool as I cautiously prepare the thread. My body is slick with a cool sweat, and my breathing is audible against the walls of this inn bedroom. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows into the corners. I'm caught debating my next maneuver in the procedure.

I pause, taking time to draw in a shaking breath. The pain isn't what bothers me, it's the constant sight of the twitching tendons underneath and the slick glimmer of subcutaneous tissue. My eyes shut as I inhale once more, positioning the tip of the needle at the the cutaneous skin at one end of the wound. The final breath, I stick the needle into my flesh.

Methodical motions fueled by the adrenaline pumping through my system force my way through. At the halfway mark I pause, a churning sensation twisting my stomach. I gulp, trying to contain the feeling before plowing onward. My head throbs and my limbs tremble like tree twigs in a downpour.

Time stands still, and I can't logic out how long I'm tending to my wound. Finally I reach the end of the long, straight wound dashing down my forearm. I use my teeth to tear the thread and my free hand manages a knot. Once I'm done, I lean back to revel at my handy work.

The slit of the wound is pieced together by the black zig-zag of the threading. There's still blood caked around my skin that needs to be washed, and I'm not entirely sure where I go from here with this injury. Was it days or weeks I left these stitches in? Perhaps I should go see a healing mage in the city here soon. I'd maul over these plans once I got some rest and could think more clearly.

My awe lasts fleetingly as I sudden lean over. I grab the bucket I'd been lent to by the innkeeper, hurling the contents of my stomach into the basin. My head throbs as I lean there, gagging.

Down below in the main room of the inn, I can hear the front door open and slam shut. The sound causes me to jump, knocking the elbow of my wounded arm into the table. I keel over with a yelp, buying my forehead into the surface of the table as hot tears threaten their way to the forefront of my eyes. Teeth embed themselves into my lower lip as I groan in agony.

"Innkeeper, I come to believe there is a criminal staying within your business. Have you seen her?" A deep voice demands.

Below, the innkeeper, Do'iir, gives a soft grunt. He's a bony-elbowed Khajiit that busts his tail for a living. Nobody strides into his domain without a proper etiquette, especially someone with a violent sneer like that.

I'd known Do'iir for a number of years, always certain to frequent his inn when I'm in the area. He is unafraid of even the Emperor himself, and will stand his ground against any personality.

"Excuse me?" The Khajiit growls. "Even the Imperial Legion has no business striding in here without any formalities. You're disrupting my business."

The floorboards of this aging boarding house are thin, and it feels as if I stand in the room with this searching newcomer and the innkeeper. A panic settles into my blood, knowing precisely who is about to be identified. While Do'iir can hold off the legion member for a few minutes, there's no way he's risking an arrest for noncompliance with the law. If the Legion has a legitimate warrant out, nothing stands between them ransacking the inn to search for a criminal.

Sure enough, the Legion member continues with spiteful words, "Imperial. Female. She has long golden hair, probably in a braid. Perhaps parading around with a nasty cut on her arm."

Me.

My hands gather underneath my on the chair, forcing my legs to straighten as I hoist myself up. I launch over to grab the iron dagger sitting on the bedside table, brandishing it in the candlelight before ducking for the space behind the door. There's no mode of escape, and my best option is to hope I can hide and assault whoever is about to barge into my room in any second.

Despite the obvious identifications, Do'iir offers the Legion member no bone.

"Many people come and go," Do'iir replies. "I am very busy man."

"Knowingly housing a criminal is a punishable crime in the eyes of the Empire, Khajiit," the man prompts savagely. "So I suggest you allow me to search the rooms of your tenants without any resistance."

There's a tense silence that follows. I lean my back against the wall, breaths ragged. The stairs leading to the second floor creak, and I ration out my breath in my lungs as I listen. My heart thunders like a landslide in my chest. I wonder if whoever is out there can hear the panic besetting me. I'm a wounded animal, and he is the predator sniffing out my blood trail.

Knocking raps down the hallway. The tenant of the neighboring room grumbles, feet thudding as they come over and whip the door open.

"Yes?" Comes the voice of the drunk Redguard who sat at the bar when I arrived to purchase a room for the night. He had eyed my wound, asking something incoherently to which I had laughed off and told him I was a professional bear hunter. A blatant lie he bought with the raise of his tankard of sloshing beer.

"Imperial Watch," the man identifies himself. "Are you alone in there?"

"Not unless you're volunteering to spend the night with me, buddy," The Redguard muses with a fit of laughs. The door clatters shut, and the guard moves on.

He covers another door, resulting in another failure to locate me. Finally his boots drum to the landing outside of my room. I fit cozily into the corner of the room behind the door, hoping that this plan unravels as my mind plays it out to be, and that I could be on flight in the wilderness of the Gold Coast in a few moments.

The door opens, hinges creaking. The guard steps into the room, peering into the inky shadows. There's a moment of hesitation in my movements, whether bogged down by fear or by the screaming agony still pulsating through my damaged arm. I attempt to throw myself from out behind the door like a viper striking its prey. I rear the dagger up, aiming the hilt to knock him on the temple of his exposed head. He pivots hard, as if expecting me, using his arm to knock the dagger out of my grasp before smashing his fist into my head.

There's a clatter of metal against the ground as I'm disarmed. My knees buckle under the blow delivered to my head, and I soon follow my weapon. My body crashes to the ground in a gasping heap. Sobbing with surprise, my fingers nimbly shoot out to reach for my dagger. There's no more mercy for us, and my initial plan to simply knock the Imperial Guard out has been tarnished. There might be bloodshed in exchange for my freedom.

But my hands never meet my weapon. Instead, a sharp pain envelops my skull as the Guard's boots crash into the side of my head, met next with nothing but a spiraling whirlwind of darkness.


	2. ii

**Chapter II**

Caught in the savage limbo of slumber and consciousness, my groggy brains attempts to make a foothold on the forming of the conscious world. The first thing that registers is the metallic taste situated in my mouth. My tongue lolls against the backs of my teeth as I fight the repugnant taste, trying to determine what I'd eaten before that would leave such a sour taste. For a few seconds, my drowsy brain tries to piece together foggy memories until I recognize the taste. Blood. My own blood.

Surprisingly, the second feeling is the agony stinging across my midsection. It awakens from its slumber, burning like a flame against my flesh. A low groan rises from my throat as I eyes force themselves open. I can't willingly move. Not because I'm incapable, but because every fiber of my being prefers the supine position I've taken on the ground. My muscles feel cumbersome. My bones are dead, unmovable weight.

My fingers twitch, feeling the dilapidated fabric of my bed. I spread them out, the tips of my outside fingers striking the cool surface of rock. The ground is moist and grimy. My eyes begin to adjust to the inky shadows I lay in, tracing the faint outline of this small, desolate chamber. Upon the wall opposite to me is a small, rectangular window. A quartet of metal bars imprison the window, separating the pale cast of moonlight from the outside world from me and this cell.

Prison.

In the back of my mind, a cruel reminder rings that it was only a matter of time.

A woman of my stature, who made a plethora of decisions that branded infamy to my name, didn't escape the hungry jaws of justice. The only thing worth separating me from such desolate fate would've been death or disappearance. And my former ego hindered me from opting for either choice in a timely manner.

In a way, I chose this path. I would die as I lived, for the outlawish life of a highway bandit. Even though I spent every night wondering if this path would be one to maintain for a lifetime, I clutched it close because my whole identity was given the breath of existence because of this. Without the identity of a bandit, I am worth nothing. And the fear of being completely stripped of an identity and forced to birth another rendered me petrified.

Dread builds a temple in my chest, heightening by the roar of blood coursing through my veins. My breaths are a panicky rasp as I prop myself up onto my elbows, caught by the savage ripple of pain through my body. In the darkness, I can still see old blood staining the front of my sack clothes. I reach one hand under the hem of the shirt, searching the cuts and contusions along my stomach and chest. They're coagulated and shut, but still painfully raw.

My arm is in nasty shape. While the wound is sealed shut from my handiwork, it's now red and feverish. Who knows what infection awaits upon further neglect to the injury.

I took my time to push myself up. First to sitting, then onto unstable legs. I feel like a child learning how to walk as I maneuver around the cell, joints groaning and muscles protesting. How long I spent passed out on that bed roll is beyond me. My mouth feels like cotton, and the taste of blood begins to throw my stomach into nausea. In the corner, under the dismal window, a meager cup and plate sit.

There's a scoop of leftover slop on the plate, and one look at it makes me opt for hunger instead of attempting to muscle the meal down. The water tastes bitter and stale, but it does enough to quench my throbbing thirst. I shutter as I set the cup down, grimacing. Embarking towards the head of the cell, I do my best to entertain my mind and take time to observe every inch of this damned cell.

Somewhere, in the rear of my mind, I wonder if there is a possibility of escape.

There's stirring from down past the barred door of the cell. My tired eyelids blink and then squint to recognize the form of the inhabitant of the cell across from me. He clears his throat, a guttural and nearly-mocking sound. As I near the door, I lean against it and gaze over at my neighbor.

"I was starting to assume you died in there," a dark elf chuckles, words laced with cruel amusement. Stingy red eyes nearly glow in the pale light cast from a torch burning down the corridor. He's malicious even at first glance, a soul trapped within these same confinements, made bitter by his imprisonment. "Whoever caught you put you through a number. They'll beat the shit out of even an Imperial, huh? I guess they don't play favorites. Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash."

Blood rushes to my cheeks with both rage and alarm. I clutch the bars valiantly, glaring across the corridor at the snotty elf accompanying me in this rotting hellhole.

"What did they pack you up for? Murdering a former lover? Hiring a hitman to ensure your inheritance? Oooh, do they lock up whores now," he presses, each following question thick with venom as he pries. His final remark causes my knuckles to flinch and I rattle the door. The sound surprises him; his alarm is then followed by a cruel laugh.

"I'm about to land my name on the execution list tomorrow for murdering you," I hiss. The heat of rage rides my pulse.

"My," he giggles with the delight of an innocent child. "You're a fiery one. All Imperials are. Full of flame and entitlement. You think you're better than us all."

"Silence," I bellow, cutting him off. "You are a word too close to me cutting your tongue out."

I lean my head against the door, the moisture from the iron dampening my throbbing forehead. An edgy exhale releases itself and, for a fleeting moment, my body relaxes. My senses begin to sustain themselves, and I raking over the surface of my brain to piece together my thoughts. I feel like I'm peering through fog in my mind in attempt to connect the memories together. A throbbing ache pulsates against the back of my skull, causing me to grit my teeth.

Gods know how many days it had been since the incident at the inn. Nothing but blackness inhabits the spaces in between then and now. My memories, if they exist, remain in a fuzzy dark space of my brain. All I know is I was here. Imprisoned and awaiting some dismal fate.

"You know what they do to girls like you? I bet the guards will give you the 'special' treatment before the end."

Kneading my head into the bars, I clamp my eyes shut and force a steady inhalation. I'm on the brink of a meltdown.

"Oh, that's right," he acknowledges, "you're going to die in here, Imperial. Criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see. You're an embarrassment. Best if you just...disappeared!"

A sob catches itself in my throat. I procure it before it finds a way out, pride grappling it by the lapels. The confusion and dismay has already taken a toll on my mental strength, and the malicious ramblings of the Dunmer are the tipping point. I growl, hot tears stinging in my lower eyelids, giving the door a hearty shake to startle my cell neighbor.

"I swear to the gods, I'll find a way to slaughter you in your cell before I take my last breath," I utter calmly, words tainted with rage. "I hope you have time to _beg_ me for mercy while you bleed out."

He smirks. From up the corridor, the sound of a door being fidgeted with and unlocked disrupts out current stand-off. The Dark Elf's face brightens with glee.

"Hear that, Imperial? The guards are coming...for you."

Propelling myself off the bars, I slink weakly back to the far corner of the cell. The other prisoner's savage laughter fills the prison, causing my ears to painfully ring. My knees buckle until I'm kneeling on the ground, a tremor writhing through my body. What have I done? Was the kingdom of crime worth the inheritance? Why had I not denied the path? I had the option at one point, but I accepted the reins blindly.

My mind considers praying. But a sinking feeling begins to conclude that I'm not on good terms with the Nine, and it's of my best interest not to make deals with a Daedric Prince.

There's an exchange of bickering amongst the approaching people, a female voice barking at her accompaniment. My body rushes with adrenaline as I rise again, panic besetting me. It's an odd hour to punish a prisoner, but you can't trust the legion to be fair. Even dressed in their stainless steel cuirasses of justice, they are savage humans under that flesh.

"By Gods," comes the female's voice. She stands at the helm of the prison cell, dressed in formal guard's wear, but she looks nothing like a member of the Imperial Legion. "What is a prisoner doing in here? Explicit orders stated to leave this cell _unoccupied_."

One of the other in her party shifts, coughing. "I'm sorry, Captain Renault, there...there must've been a mix up with the watch, milady..."

"Never mind that," she snaps. Lifting her chin to stare me down, she snarls, "You, prisoner, stay back."

I'm already flattening my back to the corner I've planted myself in. I draw in a steady breath, confused but convincing myself that this a pivotal moment to stand my ground. I stand tall but humble, consciously aware of the three armed individuals fitting themselves into my cell. The fourth individual is clothed in thick robes of purple and gold. Royalty, if I'd ever seen it.

He's a wary, aging man. His head is still full of hair, through age has bleached it a wispy silvery-white. While his companions could hardly be bothered to cast me a wayward gaze, the man comes to a startling halt. His pale blue eyes meet mine, a passing of recognition wavering across his face.

"You," he utters. "I've seen you before."

The silence that elapses between us was sharp enough to cut through rock. I shake my head no to his statement, at a loss of words. I can't respond, and he recognizes my confusion. He takes a step forward into the small slant of moonlight, a grim, but friendly smile crossing his face. The hands at his side are palms forward to show his innocent gestures, inviting me to relax.

The female guard steps towards the wall beside my bed, seemingly observing the bricks. The younger guard, a dark-skinned Redguard, stands poised at the door, gazing out urgently. The third guard glares at me with the eyes of a hungry dog, hand sitting on the hilt of his blade. My eyes dart about these accompanying party before returning to the man in royal robes.

"Let me see your face," the man beckons. I numbly step forward into the light, eye wide. He only nods, a soft sigh passing from his body. "You are the one from my dreams...the stars were right, this is the day."

Finally, my mouth finds the courage to speak. "What's going on?" I demand. "And who are you?"

"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim," he introduces faintly. His eyes lean to his guards. "Assassins have attacked my sons, and I am next. My Blades are escorting me out of the city through a route that intersects with your prison cell."

"Do you know what I've done?" I almost jeer, catching a laugh in the back of my throat. An emperor wouldn't stand in the same room as I, much less introduce himself in the midst of an assassination attempt.

He tilts his head, studying me for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done, it's trivial and no longer matters. Those things will not be what you are remembered for."

It's laughable. Nobody will forget the iniquities I've done. The people I've stolen from and humiliated. The senseless lives I've taken all in the name of monetary value.

"Sire, we really must get moving," the female implores, reaching out to touch his shoulder. She's opened a passage just beside where my bedroll sits. The emperor nods solemnly at his guard before glancing back at me. The pose does not seem concerned with the fact that I now stand with a seeming opening to freedom in the center of my cell. Two of the guards step forward into the narrow passage.

Finally, my mouth opens as the Emperor strides forward, "I would like to apologize to your Gods... but I go my own way."

A wistful smile twitches his lips as he cast one last longing gaze at me. "So do we all. But try as you might, what path can be avoided whose end is ultimately fixed by the almighty Gods?"


	3. iii

**Chapter III**

Freedom stares at me with a wide-open mouth. The Emperor and his guards slip into the darkness of the rocky passage, hustling away. My jaw remains unhinged as I attempt to determine if this is an illusion, something like a feverish dream. Hands reach out, touching the damp walls of the passage that lay beyond the structures of my prison cell. It's real. Somewhere beyond is an exit to the world. Somewhere beyond is freedom.

"Better not close this one," Captain Renault says, "there's no way to open it from the other side."

With that, the quartet descends and disappears. Leaving me, a prisoner in desperate times, with a way out of the Imperial Prison.

The shadows consume me as I dip through the passage. The group of four escaping from the city are nowhere to be seen or heard, perhaps making haste from what the emperor explained as assassins. I keep low and quiet, not willing to encounter whatever seeks this emperor, or anything else inhabiting these caverns.

My eyes gradually adjust to the dimness down here. As I twist corners, the light from the prison dissipates, and I suddenly find myself in pitch darkness. Bringing my hand to my face, I'm unable to make out the shape of my own limb. Drawing in an unsteady breath, I falter forward with my hands running against the jagged walls of the passage.

Just as I'm making bold headway through the passage, I feel a sudden plunge in my stomach as my legs grow unsteady. I seize the walls in panic, but the earth crumbles under my feet, gravity jerking me downward. I catch a scream in my throat, landing with a raucous thud.

I'm dazed, my brain feeling rattled within the confines of my skull. A muffled groan emits from my lips, mingling with the sound of the collapsed earth shifting under my aching body. My eyes blink, catching the faint amber glow of light illuminating the earthen walls around me. I'm in some low-ceiling cavern.

And I'm not alone.

An unwelcome screech pierces through the cavern, riddling my bones with dismay. I make haste stumbling to my feet, catching the silhouette of an irate beast darting from a small fire. By the time I blink and my jarred brain can register what I'm facing, it's already barreling down upon me with a savage howl. In the dancing light of the fire, I can tell its a goblin. I'd encounter them a handful of times in the forest, and preferred to stray away from their homes. They're nasty, irritable creatures.

My heels dig into the dirt as I brace myself, even muscle preparing for the pending onslaught. The goblin lunges forward, nasty claws going for my face and throat. I feel the skin on my left cheek sear as the monster manages to swipe at me before I'm capable of blocking its next assault. It flails, screaming.

Taking my hands, I wrap it around the goblin's bumpy skull, thrusting it down into the jagged rocks at my feet. An audible crunch echoes in my ears, but I don't relent from there. For one good measure, I land its head against the rock once more, the sound of bone clunking against stone echoing in my ears. I give an edgy exhale and release the beast. It slinks to the ground, dead. This isn't the first thing to die by my hands, but definitely the first by my bare hands.

My hands are moist with the fresh blood of the dead beast. I rub them against the thighs of my pants, grimacing. The musty scent of death causes my head to spin as I duck my nose under the collar of my shirt. I make way for the fire across the cavern, inspecting the collection of loot the goblin has. There's a rusty dagger, along with a bow and quiver of arrows. My greedy fingers take claim of the weapons, glad that my next encounter won't be subject to a hand-to-hand combat.

Beyond the fire, there's another curving passage. With my original route above me and unreachable, I'm subject to opt for this one. It's narrow and I'm forced to crawl on my hands and knees. Further up, there's a crack in the wall. It's too narrow for me to squeeze through, but I can see into the chamber on the other side. Faint light streams in from a wedge in the ceiling, illuminating the rubble below. I squint, catching sight of the disruptions in the room.

The body of a Blade lays in the center of the room, blood reflecting light even at this time of day. Staring long enough, I can make out the splay of long hair soaking in the crimson liquid. It would be their Captain Renault.

Farther in the corner, there's another lifeless form. There isn't much to identify, although the scarlet robes stand starkly out even in the shadows.

I frown, a waver of sympathy passing over me for the Blades' Captain. These two are the only in the chamber below, so I hopefully expect that the Emperor is still alive. Despite our fleeting meeting, the old man refused to see anything less in me. For that, I held him to a high esteem.

I wonder how far I trail behind the Emperor and his Blades. Try as I might, the raucous pounding of my heart in my chest and the roar of blood in my ears disrupts my tentative hearing. Hands and knees drag against dirt as I curve into pitch darkness. I shut my eyes to disallow for me to realize how dark it truly is, head dropping as I trudged onward. I'm lucky tight spaces don't cause my panic to rise. An eternity passes before a glow of light dances on my eyelids. My eyes flicker open as I recognize another chamber in this damned sanctum.

Voices argue below me. I halt, fingers reaching up to bring the goblin's looted bow into my hands. I silently yank an arrow, holding it in the taut bowstring. Striding into the pale light of the center of the chamber is the Emperor and his two remaining Blades. They're streaked in dirt and grim, looking a bit rattled despite their refined nature. The Emperor remains stoic.

"We should find a defensible spot and guard the Emperor until help arrives," the elder of the two male Blades suggests.

The Redguard shakes his head. "Help?" He laughs bitterly. "What makes you believe help will arrive before these bastards slaughter us, Glenroy? We need to get out of here."

There's a crumbling of earth, as if on cue, and two monstrous warriors burst into the chamber.

"Gods, here they come again!" Glenroy roars.

I hunker close to the wall of my passage, watching as the Redguard and the Imperial throw themselves at the red-clad warriors. They are adorned in similar colors as the slain stranger back in the chamber with Renault, but are equipped with fearsome armor. The event unfolds in a matter of seconds, but unravels in my mind in a slow eternity. The Imperial, Glenroy, is knocked to his knees by the red warrior.

Without a second thought, I snap the bowstring back, aiming squarely at the red warrior as he rears his mace up to bring it down upon Glenroy's skull. My fingers release the bowstring, sending the arrow soaring through the air until it embeds itself into the neck of the warrior.

The warrior sinks to his knees, engulfed in a cloud of red before all that remains in a red-cloaked stranger laying dead on the ground.

The Redguard has overcome his adversary, a similar man in red now laying lifeless on the floor of the chamber. Both Blades wheel around, eyes searching wildly until they spot my frame curled at the mouth of the passage.

"Dammit, it's that prisoner again," Glenroy curses. "Kill her. She might be working with them."

The Redguard squints at Glenroy, jaw tightening. It doesn't take intensive deduction to recognize the source of the saving strike for Glenroy, yet he strides towards the wall with his blade drawn. My passage is above his head, just safe from his strike.

I remain perched up there, glaring down at Glenroy. "Remind me next time to let you die, then," I hiss. His eyes flare.

"Did they send you?" he hisses.

"Glenroy, enough," The Emperor calls. "She is not one of them. She can help us."

All eyes rest on the Emperor. My jaw drops a bit, still rendered speechless by the Emperor's insistence in seeing some amount of good in me.

"She must help us."

The fuming Blade strides back to his king, releasing a huffing sigh. I scoot towards the mouth of my spot, grabbing the edge and sliding down the wall. I land on my feet, gazing forward at the Emperor. My fingers tremble around my bow, as if expecting them to second guess my presence and kill me on the spot. But the Emperor remains inviting, beckoning me from my perch.

"She comes with us," the Emperor announces.

I flinch with surprise.

The two Blades pass one another wary gazes, before the Redguard, Baurus, offers me a torch. Glenroy gives an unsatisfied huff before pushing onward, not offering another exchange of words with his companions. I skulk behind them like an unwanted stray dog, eyes flitting nervously around as we pass through the ancient passageway. We reach another room, met by a locked gate.

"How can this be?" Glenroy curses.

There's a clatter in the room we came from as rock crumbles to the ground. A distorted battlecry rings out, causing both Blades to freeze. Immediately, swords are drawn and both charge back from the way we came.

"It's a trap," Baurus barks before leaving. "You, protect the Emperor!"

I brandish the rusty dagger in my hands, turning with wild-eyes to face the calm-demeanor of the Emperor.

"This is it," he says, voice hardly above a whisper. His hands reach up to fiddle with the chain of the amulet draped around his neck. He retracts it, offering it to me. "This is the Amulet of Kings."

"Surely you're mad," I cough. I can't accept the amulet, nearly afraid of the sacred object.

The Emperor smiles then, one hand resting upon my good forearm in comfort. "There is no shame in being perplexed. Your future will make more sense soon," he reassures. "The Dragonfires must be lit by my son."

"How do you know they're alive?" I recall. These monstrous warriors were devout on pursuing and slaughtering the Emperor, I could only assume his sons hadn't met charming fates if they too had been attacked.

There's a brief passing of grief that betrays the calm man's face as he shakes his head. His lips purse as he holds his hand up to silence me. "I have a fourth son, an illegitimate..." the Emperor hastily explains. "It's a complicated tale, we have naught the time. Take this Amulet to Jauffre. He will know what to do."

Reaching to grab my free hand, the Emperor curls my fingers around the beautiful crimson jewel. My jaw unhinges. My throat chokes on audible words until I burst, "Why are you doing this?"

"Please," he implores now. "My last son must be found, and the jaws of Oblivion shut."

Time does not allow me to press further questions. From the shadows behind the Emperor, a figure blitzes forward, barreling down upon us with a glinting mace in hand. A cry escapes my throat as I lunge backward watching the red-armored warrior crashes down upon the Emperor; my back connects with the wall, catching me from collapsing backwards. Uriel Septim crumbles to the ground without a sound, but the echo of his body connecting with the earth resonates in my ears. I'm left gaping, mind buzzing with static at the scene unfolding.

The assassin pivots towards me in a flash movement, slashing his blunt weapon for my head. I duck, instinctively plunging the dagger towards his exposed abdomen. The blade sinks into his stomach, before hitching on something hard, bone I assume. At that moment I twist the blade sideways. The assassin collapses with a petrified scream, I yank the blade back. He strikes the floor writhing, senses stunned by the assault.

Quickly, I dive, implanting the weapon into the front of his throat as if slaying a hunted creature. My wrist drives down, opening the precious arteries and allowing blood to spill out. I retract, my hand covered in the warm, crimson liquid. The assassin dies in a gurgling panic.

I stumble a step to the wall, leaning against it. Sweat pours from my skin and the wretched scent of death is nauseating. My limbs feel numb and there's a flutter of anxiety wrecking havoc on my insides. The worst aspect of this hellhole is the lifeless gaze of the Emperor, who lay slain in the center of the chamber. I try to detach my flood of emotions, convincing myself it had only been mere moments with this man, but my chest still yield an agonizing ache of grief.

My fingers grip the amulet he had given me, his urgent words echoing in my ears.

 _The jaws of Oblivion must be shut._

My senses come to in time to hear approaching steps. I brandish the dagger and wheel in the direction of the sound, turning bravely to face another adversary. Stepping into the room is Baurus, who recognizes my defense and quickly straightens, holding his free hand up to signal his friendliness.

"It's just me. It's okay," he states.

Lips moving, I try to muster the strength to apologize or simply proclaim the matter at hand. But no sound births. Baurus squints before his eyes suddenly land on the crumpled body of the Emperor, devastation crashing through him like a flash of lightning. "No..no no no..." He breathes, crouching next to the Emperor. "He's dead...we've failed. I've...failed."

My hand raises to cup my mouth, hot tears stinging the crevices of my eyes. I'm holding back a sob when Baurus straightens up, eyes never leaving the frame of his fallen king. He remains quiet and composed, though the twist of grief marring his face gives away his true ripple of emotions.

"The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor," he hoarsely sighs. "And now he and his heirs are dead..."

A deafening silence elapses as the Blade mourns and I refrain from crying. Finally, Baurus grows ridged and stoops back down to the Emperor.

"Gods, where is the amulet?" He panics, tugging at the dead man's collar frantically to reveal something that isn't there.

"Me!" I choke out. The Blade stands up, eyes bewildered as I reveal the amulet clutched between whitening knuckles. He swiftly steps forward, grabbing my hand to further inspect the amulet. "The Emperor gave it to me."

He halts, eyes searching my face with a wave of confusion. Finally he relents, nodding somberly and releasing my hand. "Strange. He saw something in you. Trusted you," he breaths. A grim chuckle passes through him. "They say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of the Septim. They see more than lesser men."

"Jauffre," I tell Baurus. "I must take it to Jauffre..."

"Jauffre?" Baurus repeats. "Why?"

"Th-there's another heir."

Baurus squints, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Nothing I've heard of..." he muses ruefully. "Jauffre is the grandmaster of my Order. If anybody knows of it, it's him..."

Hands retreating into the pocket of his grieves, Baurus fishes out a key. He offers it towards me. I glance down, before gently collecting it.

"The passage they opened should take you to the door out of the sewers," Baurus explains quietly. "Use this key."

We both, in a moment, share a silence that recognizes what he's doing. Secret exit or not, I'm still a prisoner by the law. He's offering escape to a charged prisoner - a prisoner whose crimes aren't just petty thievery or trespassing. Whether or not he assumes the worst, Baurus gives me the key to my full-fledged escape. The Emperor's blessings can't null and void what I should be paying for in that prison cell.

"Head northwest towards Chorrol. It's a few miles before the city gate."

I blink, nodding somberly. "Where will you go?" I inquire.

He gazes down at the Emperor, frowning. "I'll stay here, in case any more of those bastards come around. I need to protect the Emperor's body until it can be removed."

I reach over, the Blade shrinking away as I touch his forearm in a gesture of sympathy. His brown eyes jolt to meet mine, both stunned by the motion and by the mere kindness of a _prisoner_.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Sometimes, our duties encounter such failures..." Baurus replies quietly.

There's nothing more I can offer in comfort, and the restless feeling to get out of these desolate passageways aches on my bones. I can't spend another moment in this room with the deceased Emperor. My palm flips the key nervously in circles, afraid that if I forget about it for a second, it'll disappear. I take a step towards the passage, taking one last mournful glance at the Emperor and the Blade.

"Gods be with you," Baurus murmurs, though his thoughtfulness is overshadowed by the distance in his tone.

I don't reply.

His Gods had a lot of explaining to do with me.


	4. iv

**Chapter IV**

The sheer bliss of exiting from the prison passages through the sewers is swiftly overshadowed by the deluge I meet. The skies have opened overhead, washing the land in a cold, relentless rain. Somewhere in the west, lightning sizzles across the sky, accompanied by a building roar that shakes the earth from under my feet. I throw myself forward, clutching a bolder as the ragged sack shoes I adorn skid in the mud. I'm breathless and exhausted, wanting to collapse in the mud but knowing I need to seek shelter.

Several steps down the ridge outside the sewer grate, my exhaustive steps suddenly meet a patch of slick mud. I have very little means to maintain my balance, gravity immediately sweeping me off my feet and throwing me down. I'm unable to fight the force, letting gravity take me until I'm laying face up, squinting into the pouring rain above me.

Groaning, I sway my way back to my feet. My head throbs as I stare up at the sky with contempt. I locate a crown of a naive oak tree, scooting underneath its protection as the storm rages on. My bring my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. I scan the shore before me, watching the lake ripple from the onslaught of raindrops.

My nose burns from the odors of the sewer, the pungent smell permeating every thread of my ragged clothing. I could consider the rainstorm an offering of a bath, but by now the smell is inhabiting the pores of my skin and settled into the fibers of my hair. I have little time, though, to be thankless of my escape route. Out here beats in there.

I remain stationary for a passage of time, willing that the rain will let up and I can embark on some segment of this damned journey, but nature doesn't play nicely to my wishes. Eventually I unfold my legs, muscles still unpleasant but more mobile than before. My first intention is to find a warm bath, and maybe a bed to catch some sleep in. Anything better than the Imperial Prison will do right now.

I travel west around the island, keeping close to the shoreline. My feet skid across wet sand, toes dragging lazily. There's no rush at this point - I'm already soaked and there's very little to be making haste for. Above me, lightning dazzles the sky, but I'm unafraid of the torrential rain. I'd been living out in the wilderness too long to fear nature and her onslaught. By now, I coolly accepted her swift, wavering weather and adapted accordingly.

Once I reach the bridge on the western sector of the Imperial Island, I climb up and skulk across. The weather has kept company indoors, leaving me alone. Thankfully, no one can observe the mess that I am - muddy, bloody and fatigued.

Weye, despite its location at the mouth of the Imperial City, is homely and quiet. The inn here is beyond cheaper than anything within the city walls, and if you didn't mind a slight walk across the bridge, it was the pristine choice for anybody visiting the city. It's been a while since I'd tread around here. With the multitude of Legion members patrolling the close-proximity to the capital, it wasn't especially bandit-friendly.

I walk towards the Inn with eager steps, my mind already toying with the idea of being in a warm, friendly establishment. I stash my weapons under a bush on the side, already twisting my story together to prying minds. There's a moment I take pausing at a mud puddle to wash the blood on my hands and then cup a mass of mud, smearing it across the blood stains on my shirt. I look like hell as it is, but I don't need to raise questions with the blood. There's not much I can do about the cut on my cheek from the goblin, and I do my best to conceal the makeshift medical procedure done on my arm.

A warm wind gusts against me as I stride into the inn, greeted by the strong smell of bread and the calming crackle of a burning fire. Ecstasy pricks at my arms, causing goosebumps of pleasure of being bathed in warmth. I sigh softly, my exhaustion nearly causing me to wilt now that I'm somewhere considerably _safe_.

At the nearby counter, a charming Altmer stands with her back to me, kneading out dough. She's tall, nothing particular for a High Elf, with brown-blonde hair and simple brown clothing.

"Oh, hello, welcome to the Wawnet Inn," she greets over her shoulder. Her hands wipe flour down the length of her dress. "I'm sorry, I don't normally expect anybody this late."

"I wasn't sure if you'd be open at such an hour," I comment lightly, trying earnestly to express friendliness.

"Ah, I'm a night owl," she replies chirpily. "Besides, we get travelers at all hours. Imperial City and everything."

I smile grimly as she turns around, her brown eyes widening with either amusement or masked disgust at the sight of me.

"My...you've seen better days, haven't you, dear?" The innkeeper muses.

I run my fingers through my damp hair, sighing. I cautiously take a seat at one of the stools, half-expecting the High Elf to shoo me away because of my disheveled and damp appearance. "My bastard husband sold everything and kicked me out," I lie calmly, chewing on my lip. "I've been living on the streets for nearly a month...I'm on my way west to live with family."

The innkeeper's eyebrows furrow, a frown forming across her lips. "You poor thing," she sympathizes. "Let me scrounge up a better outfit for you, dear. Sack clothing is neither comfortable nor functional. And let's get you a warm bath."

"H-how much for that?" I ask nervously.

She smiles softly, eyes dancing in the glow of the fire. "Consider it the special for tonight, free of charge," she insists.

The bath is heavenly, and I almost feel sinful for enjoying it. I scrub the grim, blood and mud from my skin, allowing me to better inspect the array of wounds littering my body. I've taken a beating, as shown by the contusions staining my skin purple and blue. None of the wounds are problematic, save my sewn-together forearm.

Refreshment is diminutive when I rise out of the tub, my body quickly reminding me the toll I'd taken from the previous few days. It's still injured, I have to remind myself, and should be nursed accordingly. But my mind is plentiful with other ideas. All of those that don't include resting and healing.

The innkeeper offers me a pair of leather pants and a white cotton shirt. She finds some fur boots in her left-behind items storage, promising me that they'd been in her possession for far too long for the original owner to consider returning for them. Though, considering my background, that fact alone doesn't concern me. Overall, I'm simply gracious to shed the sack clothing and dispose of it, ceremoniously leaving behind my stint in the Imperial prison.

Sitting at the small desk in this bedroom, I braid my hair in the mirror under candelight. Damp, blonde tendrils hug my stark cheekbones as I attempt to comb the hair out of the way. My face is only slightly better after a warm cleanse. The goblin's scratch is puffy and red. My eyes sunken with lack of proper sleep. I look frail. I could use some sleep.

But I don't sleep that night.

Sickness clings to the walls of my stomach, churning like a boat in a storm. It's of my best judgment to sleep, but my mind does not relent towards that notion. Instead, I toss and turn until my body aches with annoyance. I sling myself up, damning everything as I pack the knapsack I'd charmed the innkeeper into giving me, gently checking on the amulet resting in the bottom.

This jewel is the only thing giving me purpose right now. I would make haste to Weynon Priory under the Emperor's dying command and deliver it to the man, Jauffre.

Downstairs, the innkeeper has slipped off to bed when I make my exit. I wish I could thank her for the hundredth time before embarking, but can't tolerate another minute of stagnancy.

When I emerge outside, the storm has passed.

A gentle breeze flickers across the land, smelling of wet earth and rainfall. Crickets and other night insects chirp from their perches, filling the air with a pleasant, twilight chorus. The sky above is still cloaked in a mass of ashen clouds, and so the path remains dark without the illumination from the stars and moons.

Outside the inn, I gaze across the road at the small farmhouse and its fields. Contained within the field is the silhouette of a dozing chestnut horse. His head dangles low to the ground, ears twitching in his light sleep. I chew my lip thoughtfully as I stare at the creature, glancing up the road with an impatient look. The long walk ahead towards Chorrol could take a full day on foot, time that could be dramatically hashed on horseback.

This horse wasn't mine for the taking.

 _But you are_ still _a thieving bandit,_ I chuckle darkly to myself.

I quietly muse whether or not this went against some law implied in my newly-aligned stars of fate. Time is direly precious, I attempt to reason. The gods would understand if I'm simply trying to fulfill their role in a timely manner.

The stallion is sleepy, but curious, as I propel myself over the fence and approach. Warm nostrils flare as I am within touching distance, extending to search through my golden hair before inspecting the pockets of my pants for a treat. I giggle softly, fingers trailing down his smooth, copper-colored coat. He leans pleasantly into my touch, eyelids fluttering as I scratch my fingernails along his neck.

Fingers tighten around the leather of his halter, clucking my tongue and gently tugging him towards the gate across the pasture. There's a brief moment of hesitancy before he steps after me, hooves thudding against the sodden earth as we walk together. In a few steps, he's gingerly following me, tail swishing.

I remain on foot as we travel down the road. My heart thuds against my chest, constantly peering over my shoulder for somebody to catch me in the act of stealing a horse. I wait until we've managed ourselves a ways to where it forks. We halt at a pair of rocks, which I utilize to boost myself onto the stallion's bare back. My fingers intertwine into the horse's mane, using my legs to beckon the horse in my willed directions.

The stallion prances for a second, snorting excitedly under my weight. He probably hasn't carried a soul in a while, judging from his placement in the overrun pasture. But he relaxes after a moment, allowing me to maul over the options at my feet.

Southwest will take me back to the Gold Coast, my last home of operation. I'm sure some traveling bandit has discovered and ransacked my former camp, but a wistful part of me yearns to go seek my belongings. I could sell the amulet for a plentiful price. A vulgar part of me wonders if I could find those bastards that murdered the Emperor and try to sell it to them. Though I reckon they aren't the type to bargain, and would sooner slit my throat than offer me gold.

Northwest heads to Chorrol. To Weynon Priory. To the man, Jauffre, who knows where the Emperor's last son is.

 _You must help._

I laugh bitterly at the thought.

What about me intrigued the Emperor so?

How does a thieving, murderous bandit like I end up intertwined in the stars of the Septims?

I laugh again, this time more heartily. The stallion jerks his head a bit, nostrils flared. This was all a hallucination. I'd awaken feverish and dying in the prison cell, all this nothing but a vivid dream accompanying death.

But, in the depths of my mind, I know I can't convince myself otherwise. This is reality, and I'm part of a fate greater than myself. And while I can argue with the Gods about the validity of my role, there isn't much time to debate the matter.

Sighing, I rake my fingers through my hair. I can't entertain the thought much longer, tapping my heels into the stallion's sides and heading for Chorrol.


	5. V

**Chapter V**

A monastery.

The Grandmaster of a faction such as the Blades resides in a rundown, seen-better-days monastery.

There's a doubtful part of me as I approach from the road to Chorrol. It's midday, and the sun peaks out from behind a thin layer of ominous rainclouds. The emerald forest around me is alive with the sounds of summer, and the smell of rain still clings to the roof of my mouth while I breath. The storm from last night seems lodged in the past, and my brain still tries to envelop the events of last night. They play out in a haze from my memories, uncertainty spiking a river of fear through my blood. Was this real?

My fingers wrap around the amulet in the knapsack, the cool surface of the jewel calming my senses.

Real.

As I reach the outskirts of the property of Weynon Priory, a Dark Elf looks up from laboring in a vegetable garden. He holds a dirt-covered hand to shield the sun from his eyes, squinting as I dismount the chestnut stallion. The horse prances while I reach over to cling to his halter, whispering soothing words. Finally we stand placidly, the Dark Elf now striding over.

"Who goes there?" The Dunmer scrutinizes.

Teeth shred into my lower lip nervously as I face the Dunmer, shoulders tilting back and eyes leveling to meet his gaze.

"I'm here on business," I state matter-of-factly.

His head cocks to the side as he attempts to size me up. I can nearly hear his thoughts as if spoken out loud, wondering why this torn-up Imperial would be treading through this monastery. An entertained smirk passes his lips as he nods softly.

"I assume what you're looking for is at the main house," he leans his head in the direction of the largest building on site. "I'm Eronor, by the way. Welcome to Weynon Priory."

There's an amount of coyness in his breath as he turns to tend to his former dallies. I thoughtfully chew my lower lip, eyes sweeping back across the priory with a flicker of ?. I rub my hands along the stallion's head as I muster the courage to step up towards the main house, a myriad of scenarios blitzing through my mind. What the hell was I doing, I mused silently to myself.

Boldly, I climb up the steps and hold my fist to the door. A moment of further consideration halts me, before I rap my knuckles on the wooden door. On the other side, my knock echoes against the walls. I'm holding my breath until the doorknob suddenly clicks and a calm face gazes back at me.

My mind paints a picture for the humble monks of the monasteries across Cyrodiil. Having never come into contact with these sorts of civilians, I'm taken aback by the young face that eyes me from the doorframe. He's about half the age I would envision a monk, his face still exempt from the wrinkles of age. Adorned in a dark brown robe and his head shaved down to the skin, the young monk offers a wayward smile to greet me.

"Hello...?" he greets, eyebrows twitching with amusement at my blank expression.

My teeth clench, and I roll through my mind what I'm supposed to do next.

"Can I help you?" He further prompts.

My mouth opens, lips stuttering nonsense until I gather my conscious. "Yes!"

We both stand there in silence. The words jumble in my mind, feeble attempts to explain my disposition without sparing details I deem private. Nothing comes out of my mouth, twisted behind my tongue.

Finally, the young monk nods to himself with a subdued smirk showing at the edges of his lips. "Strange visitors...I see," he chuckles to himself. "Happens all the time. I suspect what you are looking for is upstairs, to the right."

"The Grandmaster?" I utter.

He merely nods in response, stepping back to allow me to enter the monastery house.

The household speaks peace. It's quiet, with large windows that allow for the natural light to pour in from outside. The first floor alone is home to several tall bookcases, lodged with dozens on dozens of various sets of literature.

My eyes can't help but analyze the corners of this monastery. It's like stepping into a whole new world for me, having never lived beyond a rundown shack, inn rooms and the wilderness. Each step towards the staircase adjacent from the front door is met with captivation of the things around me. As I take a step onto the stair platform, I glance back at the monk, who stares with an amused grin.

Fingers run against the smooth mahogany wood of the bannister as I slowly trek up. Floor boards creak, announcing my presence as I take a right and find myself in a study. Like the rest of the monastery, there's a fine collection of books here. On the far side of the room is a grand desk, with a glinting blade mounted on the wall above it.

A man, the proclaimed Grandmaster, I assume, sits perched as his desk with a book in hand. He's aged, suiting the moniker of monk than the gentleman I'd previously encountered. His head is balding, leaving only hair that spans gray from ear to ear. He looks exhausted, a feeling I too familiarly relate to.

"Hello," the man greets. "I see Brother Piner must have let you in."

I glance down the stairs, the man in the brown robes gone to continue his own businesses. My eyes turn back to the Grandmaster, nodding quietly.

"I am Brother Jauffre. What concerns your business?"

"The Emperor sent me."

The stoic face of the Grandmaster is betrayed by a waver of emotion. While years and years of experience have evidently weathered him down, it doesn't completely save him. His facial features twitch before he remains in control.

"The Emperor is dead," he states.

I shrug my knapsack from my shoulders, my hands desperately reaching for the amulet. My story is preposterous, even had lived the incident, and I wasn't going to waste my breath in a feeble attempt to get somebody to believe me. Seeing was believing, and the Emperor's Amulet was the only solid evidence I had.

I present the ruby amulet. Here in the light of day, I am able to fully admire the glistening jewel. It looks fit for a king. And the presentation of it nearly incites Jauffre into a fit.

The Grandmaster reels backwards at the sight of the red amulet, breath taken away. Jaw unhinges as a hand shoots forward to clutch my hand and the amulet. "This cannot be," he gasps, jerking back with the amulet I forfeit. "By the Nines...this IS the Amulet of Kings..."

His face falls further, as if the presentation of the Amulet further cements the death of his emperor. His fingers tremble over the amulet before he gazes up at me with a fiery expression.

"You. What do you know of the emperor's death?"

"Look," I snap defensively, "I told you, _h_ e sent me. I received his final words."

"How can I trust you aren't with them?"

My cheeks are warm with frustration as I stand my ground. I give a short laugh to his question, replying, "I hardly think these assassins would just swing by to give you this as a parting gift."

Despite my stingy remark, Jauffre meets my response with a pregnant pause rather than anger. His eyes fall to the amulet in his hands, turning it over with a distant, mournful look. It reminds me of the same expression of Baurus, back in the escape passages, while he gazed over his deceased emperor.

Our exchange seems to come to a halt, and I'm wondering if this is the end to my journey. I shift uneasily, floorboards squeaking under my weight. Jauffre looks up, as if forgetting I stand here in his study.

"Sit down, please," he offers. "I'm sorry, I lack the formalities. What is your name?"

I shuffle towards the chair sitting on the opposite side if the desk, lowering myself into the seat.

"Zanei...I was...I was the prisoner in the cell through their escape route." My skin feels warm with creeping embarrassment. I lack the identification other than the mere prisoner, existing at the right place at the wrong time.

He shifts his mouth, nodding slowly. There's uncertainty in his eyes. "The fate of Uriel Septim has always been an enigma. Somehow, it does not surprise me that a mere criminal would be intertwined amongst the stars of his final day," Jauffre's tone is that of a mourning friend, staring levelly at me.

I flinch at the name criminal. It was still a growing process in accepting that title. I hadn't fully accepted the implications of my crimes until I'd gotten caught.

"Yes. Me. Criminal."

The Grandmaster purse his lips. "I apologize, I did not mean to berate you. Regardless of your past convictions, I should honor your role in the late Emperor's final hour."

I wave his apology away flippantly. "No. It's fine, I have always been poor with accepting the ramifications of the lifestyle _I_ chose."

Jauffre nods softly in understanding.

"His son," I mention quietly. "He said he has another son."

"Martin," he confirms. "Years ago the Emperor called me into his chamber. He gave me a babe, told me to find a safe place for him to be raised. He never disclosed the true details of the child. I knew better though, and occasionally he'd ask about him, Martin."

"And where did you take him?"

"Kvatch. He grew up with a farmer there. The last thing I knew was he had become a priest for the Temple of Akatosh."

The city on a hill. Kvatch wasn't unfamiliar to me, though it had been many moons since I paid a visit. And there wasn't a chance I'd even passed the chapel a second glance during my stay.

"We need him," I state. Bracing my arms on the seat of the chair, I rise.

"We?" Jauffre can not thoroughly mask the shock and disdain in his voice.

"Are you going to hop on a horse and ride to Kvatch?" I ridicule, biting the inside of my cheek. "No offense, old man, but your old bones don't seem like they can handle that sort oftravel well. You're better off sending me, I can cut the time in half, too, traveling through the Great Forest."

"Old bones," Jauffre echoes with dismay.

I smirk. "I'm being honest, sir. I am only looking at the direness of the situation."

Jauffre reaches up and scratches the top of his head, releasing an exasperated sigh.

"I know it's insanity to trust a _mere criminal_ but the Emperor implored me. If anybody must do this, have me," I press further. "You don't even need to pledge your trust in me. But honor the trust you had for your emperor."

He stands there, thoroughly debating the matter in his head. Finally he lowers his head to moon at the amulet of his Emperor, nodding numbly.

"Very well. I send you on this mission."

I nod diligently.

"Prepare as needed and make haste to Kvatch. We can only believe these assassins, with their depth of knowledge, could easily find Martin."

"Yes, sir."

Rising from the chair, I straighten my shoulders and head for the staircase. My mind already races to the journey at foot, disregarding my sheer exhaustion and injuries still plague my body. More important matters sit on the helm, and time is precious to retrieving the Emperor's illegitimate son from Kvatch before the enemy potentially did.

"Miss Zanei," Jauffre calls as I reach the first step.

I halt, turning back towards him.

"Do I ask the reasoning behind your stay at the Imperial Prison?" He questions lightly.

I shrug, eyebrows tilting. "Ignorance is bliss, old man."

A grim expression crosses his face and he shakes his head dubiously. "Likewise...who am I to question the Gods?"

* * *

Prior Maborel, the third brother of Weynon Priory, had mend most of my wounds from the prison. He took time to uproot the thread from the makeshift stitches I'd given myself days ago and sealed up the wound, though the elongated time mending on its own left a thick mass of scar tissue in form to the former wound. After healing and eating a brief meal, I slip a handful of stamina potions in my knapsack before going to my stallion.

Eronor leans against the stable wall while I take a spare bridle and tacked the horse.

"He's a sweet creature," Eronor comments. "You raise him?"

My cheeks flush red as I nod. "Yeah...uh... _Eagle_ and I have been through a lot," I lie through my teeth. I duck around the newly-deemed Eagle, placing a foot in the stirrup and propelling myself into the saddle. The chestnut prances, snorting eagerly.

Eronor hums to himself, crimson eyes still analyzing me. "Well...good luck," he muses, almost malevolently. I don't know if he has me pegged as a criminal, but I can't help but feel my skin angrily crawl under his judgmental eyes.

I don't take another moment to live under scrutiny. I jab my heels into Eagle's sides and set off on the road.

* * *

We were at advantage having the Amulet now if Jauffre's possession, and the location of Martin known.

And then I reached Kvatch.

There's an encampment of survivors at the base of the hill - none of which are the priest I need. They're roughened up, having spent the night at this makeshift camp after narrowly escaping the jaws of their city-under-siege, and not an ounce of hope exists in their panicked faces. Nobody can give me a solid answer as to what awaits at the hilltop. I leave Eagle in the care of these people and climb to the top, gazing into the red jaws of Oblivion.

By the Gods, just my luck.

The Kvatch Guard is doing everything to keep the monsters leaking out of the gate at bay. What is happening beyond the city gate is questionable. Whoever still remains in the city is either trapped or dead. And nobody knows the status of anything beyond the walls.

Savlian Matius, the acting Kvatch Captain, has no answer on what to do. He's never been trained to handle hell on earth. And while I haven't exactly spent a day in Oblivion, fate isn't giving me much more of an option.

So I head in.

As I approach the gate, the steaming heat licks my skin and chants of the hellish realm beyond. I look up at the stormy skies above the desolated city of Kvatch, hoping somewhere beyond the storm clouds, in the realms of the aedra, the Gods peer down at me.

Was this all part of the contract for my criminal redemption?

I'd hope we'd be close to fair after this, given my skin even makes it out of this.

"I know we aren't on good terms, but I could use some protection here," I call out, flecks of rain and ash landing on my cheeks. My call is answered by a jagged tree of lightning coursing through the sky, followed by a boom of thunder. I set my gaze on the giant red mouth before me, taking in a deep breath as I stride urgently forward.

"Gods help me."


	6. VI

**Chapter VI**

I've always wondered what plane of the Oblivion hellhole I'd be sent to. People like me don't join the aedra gods in their lustrous heavens . We're damned to eternal agony in Oblivion. And the moment I step foot onto this jagged plane, I'm starting to collect every sin I need to ask forgiveness for.

It's a flaming dungeon filled with monsters and agony.

I don't know how much time elapses as I charge forward, cautiously but urgently. The vision of madness and agony flare vividly in my mind, appearing more like hellish illusions than actual reality. My ears flood with the sounds of howling, and screaming, and hisses. Every corner, I'm met with savage daedra and impish Scamps throwing fireballs in my direction.

And the tower in the center, where the powerful red light emits into the sky, is endless and packed with enemies. The armor I borrowed from the Priory is signed, and I'm covered in blood that I'm not entirely sure is weeping from my own sustained wounds or adornment from the slain monsters. Exhaustion clings devout to my frame as I clamor forward, the only thing pushing me is the pleading words of the Emperor.

 _The jaws of Oblivion must be shut._

My futile wandering soon discovers human life. Held captive by a torturous daedra, there's an individual from the Kvatch watch holed up in a cage.

"Hold on," I promise, standing over the now-slain daedra. "I'll get you out!"

The man, stripped of his cuirass and only in a pair of sack pants, trembles behind the metal confines of the suspended cage. There's savage gashes marring his chest and arms, and he's a sickly pale color.

"No, no, no, no," he protests, his voice strong despite the life seeping from him.

I snort grimly, eyes scanning the chamber at the top of one of the peripheral towers in this plane. There has to be a way to lower the cage. If I can do that, I might be able to pick the lock or maybe the dead daedra has a key somewhere on his body.

"No," he repeats when he realizes I haven't listened to his plea. "Please, you need to shut this gate. Don't waste your time on me."

"You're kidding," I cough, eyes wide as I now gap at the martyr in his cage. "I'm not leaving you here in Oblivion."

"Kvatch is surely destroyed. Every minute you waste gives these damned daedra more time to desecrate the city and kill the few that may be alive," he explains, grimly fingers clutching the bars of his prison. His eyes implore me. How one could accept his fate in this hell, when help stands before him, is beyond my comprehension.

Gritting my teeth, I nod solemnly. "If that is your wish," I utter.

A little sigh of relief exits his system, and his eyes fall down with the acceptance of the choice he just made. Finally, he looks up and points to the daedra. "He's a high ranking officer in this hellish army. He'll have the key to get you to the top of the tower. It's there where the plane derives its power."

I glance at him, before kneeling beside the daedra and searching its beastly armor. Finally when I retrieve the key, I stand back up.

"I can help you," I tell the guard.

He shakes his head dubiously. "I've made my fate with the gods. Now go, save Kvatch."

There's a moment of hesitation as I clutch the key in my hands.

The guard suddenly pounds his fists against the bars, the metal rattling, causing an echo through this tower. I flinch, heart leaping like a hare into flight.

"GO!" He bellows.

So, I go.

I reach the top of the mountainous tower, where the source of this planes power houses itself. There's an ominous reddish-black stone suspended in fire. A moment of panic besets me, as I consider my next maneuver. I lunge forward, grasping the stone, only to find that the fire does not burn my skin. My shoulders yank back, displacing the stone.

As I clasp the stone, an eerie cold flickers through my body and an explosion erupts in the air. The world shakes, as if being ripped apart by the seams. In several terrorizing seconds, I'm plunged into eternal darkness.

 _I'm not dead._

The first sensation that brings me back into the land of the living is the drizzle of cool raindrops landing on my face, before riveting down my cheeks. My eyes fly open and my lung gasp for precious air. I'm awake, and I'm alive, and immediately I fling myself forward into a sitting position. By no means could I be safe, and if there were any daedra enemies nearby, I'd be dead in seconds.

A pair of firm hands grasps my shoulders, plucking me from the mud to prop me up. At first I fight it, before my panicked mind registers that there is no eminent threat nearby. My heart still thunders against my ribcage, and my breaths are raspy. I sit in the center of Kvatch, though the city hardly retains any image of what it was.

"By the Gods...you did it!" the voice of Savlian Matius exclaims. "You...you are our hero."

He's assisting me to my feet, wrapping me in a thankful hug that I begrudgingly accept. My brain feels disconnect, fuzzy images of what I saw on the planes of Oblivion still fleeting through them. Eyes dart to the corners of the desecrated town square, the hairs on my neck standing up as I determine whether or not the piles of rubble didn't hide any daedra. A Kvatch scout climbs over a fallen pillar, sending a cold chill down my spine before I realize the shifting figure is an innocent human, not an imp from Oblivion.

I grit my teeth, trying best to be thankful for the cheers of the Kvatch Guard around me, but I'm sick with dread. The title of 'hero' would take some getting used to, and right now I wasn't in the correct state of mind to receive it graciously.

In the distance, at the singed doors of the chapel, a mass of people peak out from behind. It's one of the few buildings that hasn't absolutely been flattened or burned to the ground. The people were holed up in there for the night, unsure if they would ever step outside the doors again. I wonder if one of them is the Septim son.

It takes several minutes for me to process everything, to find the will to even move. Savlian is addressing his soldiers, preparing a group to inspect within the castle walls. The remainder of the surviving citizens will be moved down to the encampment. Kvatch may be stuck down, but she would rebuild from ashes.

After a few minutes, Savlian turns to me as if expecting more from me.

"I-I need to find your priest, Martin," I croak.

My statement renders Savlian Matius speechless, as if I had just announced some hoax. He analyzes my face before nodding, his eyes inspecting the array of wounds adorning my body. "Yes...he would be at the chapel...if he's still alive..."

"He better be," I mutter under my breath. Savlian pats me on the back, following me two steps behind as I make way for the chapel. Now, after confirming the safety of the situation, the few survivors begin to meekly step out into the town square. Children clutch one another and their mothers, tears still staining their innocent faces. Everybody looks as if they lived weeks on a battlefield. One night under the siege of Oblivion and they've aged several years.

My eyes scan the group, before stepping into the chapel itself. There's more inside, cowering and looking faithless. A man in a forest green robe coaxes a trembling elderly Breton, offering her a blanket over her shoulders. The news of the closing of the gate has changed the mood, but everyone has gone from hopeless to exhausted. The imposing truth of the road to repair and recovery is already settling into the dust, and while they can finally take a deep breath, there is much to be done from this moment onward.

"Him, that's Martin," Savlian points out.

I nod, stepping towards the priest.

"You," I state, drawing his attention.

He straightens up, gazing at me.

"You're the one who closed the gate, they say," he informs, gazing at me with a waver of relief. "I'm sorry...what is your name?"

"Zanei," I reply.

"You're hurt," he says, advancing towards me.

For the first time since I plunged into the Oblivion Gate am I aware of the searing pain coming from the various wounds littering my flesh. Adrenaline and sheer determination eliminated much of my pain reception, but now that the battle is over, the burning ache makes itself known.

"I-I've had worse, no worries," I remark wryly. The reality if my bleeding manifests quickly as the adrenaline wears off. My breaths are raspy and my eyesight feels spotty. Martin directs me for a bench, forcing me down onto the seat with a shove on my shoulders. I lean back against the pew, eyelids flickering down as I try to retain my skittering consciousness. I'm running on mere fumes now.

But the Emperor's son. I found the Emperor's son.

My eyes flash open now with the adrenaline of that news. I take a formal gander at the man before me as he raises a healing hand over the gash along my upper arm. He has unmistakable, electrifying blue eyes. Eyebrows are furrowed slightly as he works, forming creases along his forehead. Unmistakably, he is from the blood of Uriel Septim.

The wound stings as he repairs it, causing me to tense. My teeth grit into my lower lip as I hold back a cry, a jagged exhale emitting itself from my lungs. "With all respect...what is your name?" I ask, even though Savlian already gave me that answer.

"Martin," he states meekly. "I'm a priest for the Temple of Akatosh...though, I'm not sure how helpful I am right now as one. I'm having a bit of trouble understanding the gods right now."

I chuckle grimly, bowing my head. "You and me both, brother."

He points at a burn on my side, where a fireball burnt away nearly the entirety of my cuirass beneath my ribs. It still requires me to grab the lower hem and peal it back to expose the majority of the wound, to which Martin goes to work on. The healing burn sends stabs of searing pain down my leg, causing me to hiss. A frown fits itself on Martin's face as he continues to restore until the wound is shut.

A long sigh releases itself from my chest, and I blink at the priest. "Thank you."

"Why did you do it?" Martin quizzes abruptly.

At first, I'm not certain what he means.

Realizing my confusion, the priest elaborates, "The Gate. Why did you enter it?"

I shake my head. "Somebody capable had to go in and close it," I remark dryly. The priest stares, like he can't determine if I'm heroic, reckless or plain stupid. His wonder is put on hold as Savlian approaches once more.

"My scouts have established that our Count did not survive the siege," he announced quietly to me. His face is taut with worry. "This is very unfortunate times for Kvatch...but she has been grown from the ashes before."

"If there's anything you need, I am yours to spare."

The truth is, I'm not of much use for Savlian Martius and his people, but there's a segment of me that feels committed to this damned city. I was their hero, and to abandon them now felt wrong in my heart.

Luckily, Savlian denies my further assistance. "I appreciate all you have already done. Kvatch is free because of you," Savlian counters. He reaches over to hold my shoulder, gazing into my eyes. "Let it be known you are the Hero of Kvatch."

I gulp nervously when he speaks the title. No sooner does Savlian take the time to come over here, is he leaving. He's now the only leader Kvatch has, with their superior captains and their count lost to the hungry teeth of Oblivion. The rebuilding of Kvatch falls severely on his shoulders.

Martin still remains at my side, speculating the scene with curious eyes.

"We need to leave," I say.

The priest is taken aback, his face twisting with disdain. "We? And where?" He demands.

I sigh, raking my fingers through my soot-covered hair with irritation. "Look, this is going to sound crazy. But you know what's crazy? I just charged into an Oblivion Gate because _yo_ u are in danger."

"Danger?" He retorts. "Of course I am. I spent all night while daedra reigned in my city. The gates of Oblivion, fundamentally, should be impossible. Some very dire principle must have changed."

"It's because the Emperor is dead."

"Th-the Emperor is _dead?_ "

I grit my clenched teeth, nodding. Between the Emperor's assassination and the siege on Kvatch, the news wouldn't have had time to reach this city before they were consumed by the hellish plane. The announcement causes a grave blow to the priest, who's face pales at the thought.

"You...you're the only hope."

" _Me?_ " Martin's voice raises with dismay.

Jumping to my feet, I hold my finger up to my lips to hush him. I don't trust anyone in this crowd. And I didn't come all the way from the Imperial Prison to lose the last heir to Tamriel.

"Look, I think it's mad too. And a few days ago, I was just a bandit riding on some bad luck," I explain hastily, my cheeks bright red. "But I need you to believe me. And I need you to come with me, because _you aren't safe."_

"But why me?" He implores in a hushed tone.

I lick my lips, glancing away to survey the chapel. I half expect one of the red-clad warriors to burst from the shadowy corners and strike down on us. But the chapel is quiet. There's nobody but survivors and wary guardsmen milling about.

"You're Uriel Septim's son."

Martin's face falls flat. I can't determine if he's shocked or simply refraining from laughing in my face. Finally his jaw unhinges, but he yields no words in reply to my statement.

"Like I said. Mad."

"My father was a farmer."

I shake my head. "I mean in all actuality, your father was a liar."

"And my mother died when I was young."

"She...probably wasn't your mother," I interject.

Martin scowls at my comments, the crude reality and my remarks not reducing the impact to the shock accompanying the revelation to his existence. Finally he reaches up wordlessly, scooping his brown hair up from his face and clutching the sides of his head.

"Look...I know this is a shock, but we don't have time, sir," I start to plea, reaching to grab his arm.

He emits a sigh, frame relaxing slightly. Next comes a slow nod as he finally gazes back into my eyes. "It's strange...this story could so easily be a ruse, but I believe you..."

A wash of relief overcomes me. "Good," I breath. "I mean no offense, Martin, and I know you are worried about your people here, but they're safe and in good hands. We must go."

His face tightens, brows now permanently knit forward with a wash of confusion. "Where are we going, Zanei?" Martin asks.

"To Weynon Priory," I state. "The Grandmaster of the Blades, the exact man who brought you to be raised here in Kvatch, awaits."


	7. vii

**Chapter VII**

I'm not a fan of the cold.

A small cascade of snow dances across the ashen sky. It's frigid here in the heart of the Jerall Mountains, a sort of cold that sinks through every layer of clothing and inhabits your bones. Having come from a temperate climate, and only bothered to be a one-time visitor to the cold climate of Bruma prior, the change of weather is ill-received. Yet, despite my trembling frame and the searing ache in my lungs with each raspy breath, there's a wash of calm being here at the Blades' headquarters.

The small victory of closing Kvatch's Oblivion Gate and retrieving Martin became quickly overshadowed by the discovery upon our return to Jauffre's home. The cohorts of the Imperial assassins ambushed the small priory, stealing the Amulet and also murdering the innocent Priory Mabel. We made haste north to Cloud Ruler Temple, situated in the mountaintops north of the winter city of Bruma. This stone fortress has remained for eras, gazing out over the body of Cyrodiil throughout the years.

There's an unsaid celebration for the Blades upon the arrival of the to-be Emperor. The loss of Uriel Septim deals a great blow on the pride and worthiness of these Blades, even for those stationed hours away from the Imperial Palace. While it seems Captain Renault, Glenroy and Baurus are the ones who ultimately failed in the end, the entire faction carries the burden of the loss.

Jauffre doesn't ask much from me in the days following our arrival, but nobody in the fort can find a good enough reason to have me removed. I wonder if they half expect me to vanish, just as quickly as I had appeared. But the world beyond Cloud Ruler Temple isn't exactly safe for me. Despite my stint in the Imperial Prison, my crimes are not forgiven matters. Doubly, I don't believe I've made much of a name with this assassin group devout in destroying the Dragonborn blood.

I'll take the protection of the Blades for now. Nobody debates my stay - and if they did, I have a stern friend in Martin who would back me up on any given day.

I pass time in the stables, grooming the set of bay war horses and cleaning the stalls. Nobody requested my service, but I busy myself amongst these creatures. Two of the creatures from Weynon Priory join them, as well as my stolen friend, of whom I officially decided upon the name of Eagle. They're quiet, non-judging friends. And none of the Blades protest skipping out on stable duty while I'm there. I consider it earning my stay.

My third day at the Temple, I wake up at dawn. Slipping on the warm fur coat I've acquired, I step out of the West Wing and embark for the Great Hall. By now, one of the cooks is probably beginning the breakfast process. I've snuck in daily to grab a quick meal before the remainder of the Blades flood into the hall. I've hardly exchanged a word with these warriors, afraid of the plethora of questions that head my way.

The less people know about me, I reckon, the better.

Despite my early rising, I've been beaten by somebody to the beginning rounds of breakfast. The old, balding Jauffre sits at one of the tables with a book. His head raises at the sound of the door shutting behind me, brown eyes searching me as I approach the tables.

"Zanei," Jauffre greets. His voice is gruff from sleep, eyes still groggy.

I respectfully nod, grabbing a sweet roll with a soft smile at the cook.

"Please, join me," he invites.

Uncertainty passes over me as I stiffly cross to his table, seating myself parallel to the Grandmaster. He gently shuts the cover of his book, stifling a yawn before continuing what stirs on his mind.

"I've spent the last few days discussing your future with Captain Steffan...and our new Emperor to-be," he begins.

My breath hitches itself in my chest, eyebrows furrowing with interest.

"You alluded to the fact early on that there's nothing good beyond these walls waiting for you but a vagabond's life..." He states, waiting for me to softly nod in agreement to that fact. "I do not desire to press you for the secrets of your past, for it seems that those details did not matter enough for the gods to exclude you from this strange fate..."

Eyes fall downcast and a warmth creeps through my cheeks. Nobody here will allow me to set aside my past. The fact alone that my paths crossed with Uriel Septim in the Imperial Prison seems like a shameful enough stain. Any and all speculation of what lead me to my imprisonment is a fat demerit on my record for everyone.

And the way Jauffre reminds me that Uriel Septim's choice in me is almost the only redeeming factor about me makes my chest twist. My duties in delivering the amulet, closing the Oblivion Gate and transporting Martin safely to Cloud Ruler Temple are practically nonexistent in the Blades' eyes.

"We have thoughtfully considered if you would like to join our ranks of the Blades."

He delivers the next sentence and it falls like a volcanic explosion. My eyes widen, racing up to meet his and expecting some sort of ruse. But the Grandmaster is calm and sincere. Cautious, but meaning every word.

Jauffre continues, as if reporting the reasoning, "You're a skilled warrior. Tactful and calm. You could use some more blade training, but it's a minor detail that is easily trainable."

"Wait. You...you'd consider a criminal fit for your ranks?" I ask in disbelief, holding back a laugh.

Jauffre's shoulders shrug nonchalantly. "We would like to start overlooking that factor, Zanei," he informs, tilting his chin to gaze off at the collection of katanas adorning the Great Hall. The weapons of fallen Blades, the Redguard, Cyrus, told me. "Criminal or not, I can not look past the loyalty and devotion you displayed in the previous few days. And, ultimately, we can not fight Uriel Septim's visions of fate."

I search Jauffre over, looking for something not to trust in that moment. There's a deep, dark part of me that doesn't want to believe that I've truly amounted to anything more than the criminal sent by Uriel Septim. But the Grandmaster is sincere, and there's no level of distrust that I can unearth in his expression. And either he's a master player, or he genuinely means in acquiring me in the ranks of the Blades.

"I accept," I say, surpressing the eagerness with a forced air of stability. In reality, my mind is racing with an odd amount of excitement.

A faint smile crosses the Grandmaster's lips as he nods contently. "Then so be it," he states. "You are now a Knight Sister. There's training details we'll work out today, but for now I don't have anything for you to do."

The sweet roll I'd procured earlier is still situated in my hand, though I've effectively smashed it into half its original size. I stand up and dismiss myself, cramming the food into my mouth before escaping to the sanctity of the stables.

I spend most of the morning in the stables, tidying it up and tending to the horses. Once the place is immaculate, I move on to brushing Eagle's tail and, out of boredom, braiding it. The copper-toned stallion stands complacently, enjoying the pampering that he probably never received back in his home in Weye.

Drowning in my own thoughts, I don't hear someone enter the stables. I nearly leap out of my skin when a form appears at the helm of Eagle's stall, quietly observing my work.

"Gods, Martin," I curse when I recognize the pair of blue eyes scrutinizing me. "Courtesy would be to announce your presence before I take you as an enemy and cut your throat."

The young Emperor to-be smiles softly with a chuckle. "I apologize," he says, "Though I'd assume somebody who spent as much time in the wilderness as she claims would've heard my footsteps even though snow."

"I'm getting rusty," I mutter with a scowl.

"I just finished talking with Jauffre," Martin diverts, "He tells me you accepted a new role with the Blades."

I grimace a bit, not looking up from threading the long strands of Eagle's tail. "I'm wondering what divine intervention took place for that," I muse tartly. I pause then, gazing up at Martin. "I have a feeling it wasn't just an overnight change in Jauffre's cautious heart."

Martin shrugs his shoulders with a smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about," he sweetly lies.

"I'm not fool, Martin Septim," I counter.

"Perhaps I had some words to weigh in on the matter."

Eagle swishes his tail from my grasp, nostrils flaring as he takes two steps towards Martin. The chestnut extends his arched neck, soft nose brushing against the man's cheek. A flicker of a wary smile crosses Martin's lips as he reaches up to cup the stallion's head, eyes studying the stallion. I forget he was once a farmer. Days spent harrowing in the field and tending to livestock are a thing of the past for the man who took up the role in following and serving Akatosh. But his gentle demeanor and confidence with Eagle is a harkening back to his former calling.

"If it offers any consolation, Jauffre doesn't overlook what you've done. He's just old and still overly cautious," Martin attempts to reason. He is reaching up to scratch the skin underneath Eagle's forelock, a content smile stealing away on his lips. "The Blades come from pristine backgrounds. They're harbingers of justice and devotion to the Emperor. To bring in somebody with a...shady disposition such as yours...disrupts their stark sense of justice and good."

I shake my head dubiously. My gold hair falls into my face to mask the irritated frown forming itself across my face. "I get it."

"Captain Steffan took a little more convincing. He was born and raised in the Imperial Legion before being called to the Blades. You'd think we were asking him to accept Mehrunes Dagon into the ranks," Martin jokes. The jest falls flat, both of us frowning at the thought of the Prince of Oblivion.

"Martin?"

"Yes, Zanei?"

"Why...do you trust me?" I ask cautiously, trying not to sound thankless in my scrutiny.

Martin gives a shrug at first, before considering the weight of a real answer. "I want to settle with the answer that you're the Hero of Kvatch, but that only merely covers the surface," he explains. "No...there's more to you, Zanei. I, of all people, know what the implications that a change in heart can bring."

I squint, studying the man. "Do I ask for the story there?"

He smiles grimly, face falling so I can't fully read his expression. "I once dabbled in the daedric arts a time ago..." He replies with a hum.

"Ah..." I sigh. After I moment, "I can't judge. I am nothing but a criminal, remember."

"Thanks..." he pauses, thinking for a moment before adding, "friend."

I gaze at him, smiling faintly.

"Yes...friend."

The next few days are spent immersing myself into the world of the Blades. Time doesn't necessarily allow for full-fledge training, but Jauffre ensures that I learn my way around a blade. It's very different than the daggers I've wielded, and a completely opposite world from my standard bow and arrow. The katanas the Blades handle are very different sorts of weapons. Less intimate then plunging a dagger into your foe. And the weight difference in the two blades is a factor to accustom too.

Fortis and Pelagius are patient teachers - they spend most of their days practicing with them, and are considerable experts of the trade. The art of wielding a blade is stimulating. We spend hours sparring, almost as if it's a game. My incompetence grows to novice competence, and my drive pushes me to get better. Enough to disarm and apprehend Fortis, and not by a lucky chance.

We stand outside after a spar. Fortis, a bit wounded on his pride, sits off to the side, panting. I'm covered in sweat, Pelagius wrapping his arm around my shoulder in a congratulatory hug.

"I'll tell you what, you'll be better that Fortis some day," Pelagius jokes, a broad smile plastering his face.

Fortis grimaces from his perch, rolling his eyes. "She'd sooner be better than you, Pelagius. I have three years senior to your sword handling."

"Zanei has yet to completely disarm and unfoot me, friend," Pelagius shoots back.

I grin, reaching up to wipe a sheen of sweat from my forehead. My entire body aches from day-in and day-out training, but it's refreshing. It harkens back to my naive days as a bandit, when it was more a thrill than a treacherous means of life. I'd been a foolish teenager then. Now, this is a different amount of thrill. It's new, and refreshing. If the dark shadows of the crisis did not loom over, I would consider myself content with this new direction of life.

The main door to the Great Hall swings open and shuts. Pelagius, Fortis and I all gaze over to see the taut face of the Grandmaster approaching. He holds a sheathed katana in his hands, eyes directing his steps towards me.

"Zanei," he greets, almost completely disregarding Fortis and Pelagius. The two salute nonetheless, Jauffre passing them a nod.

He holds the katana out. At first, I give a perplexed gaze from Jauffre and then over to my trainers. Pelagius nods back at me, as if encouraging me to accept the gift. My palms open, and Jauffre gently places the blade into my hands.

"Rumor is you've become quite the prodigy," Jauffre comments.

I hold back a laugh, shaking my head. "You're saying it, not I."

"Nevertheless, I believe an acquaintance of yours needs you in the Imperial City."

My head cocks. I can't recall a soul in the Imperial City that could possibly need me. All my friends in low places were scrounging bandits and the inhabitants of outer city establishments. I alienated myself from most of the city-dwelling folk, especially the type that roam the Imperial City.

The grandmaster smiles faintly. "Baurus," he starts with a pause. "He has been chasing leads like a hound dog. He's sent word he's close to discovering our perpetrators. I'm sending you provide assistant."

I frown a bit. The Redguard from the sewers isn't somebody I'd claim an acquaintance, more like another soul damned to watch the Emperor die at the hands of those assassins. But we'd both shared a very poor evening. Perhaps we could pretend that tragedy gave us some sort of bond together. Now, he could call me Knight Sister.

The thought made me smirk. I'm sure Baurus would jump out of his skin to find out the _prisoner_ from that fateful night now joins him in the ranks of the Blades.

"When shall I disembark?" I question, mind already tracing out the journey from Cloud Ruler Temple to the Imperial City. There is one thing I'm gleefully certain about, and that's how much warmer it'll be due south of here.

"As soon as possible," Jauffre instructs.

 _Perfection._

I nod, fingers clutching around the katana. "I'll leave now."

The Grandmaster nods. "The Gods with you, young warrior," Jauffre bids.

I wave weakly, shaking my head. "Yeah...right."


End file.
